


baby, do you wanna ride my sound machine?

by peterandhispirate



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religious Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-17 13:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8145542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterandhispirate/pseuds/peterandhispirate
Summary: The boy that fucks Tyler is a holy thing with a honeyed mouth and twinkling eyes and an angel's face. How ironic.





	

It was dark and this was wrong.

Tyler knew that. 

He knew that each ghosting fingertip and sticky smile would only distance himself further from heaven. Each roll of the hips, each purring whisper, each flick of the tongue and breathless whimper that synced with the whining of the bed springs.

Of _course_ he knew. Why else would there be psalms spilling from the corners of his dirty mouth all the other times he happened to be on his knees? 

Sacred verses instead of sinful cries, holy water instead of cum, pews instead of filthystickymessy beds- one to make up for the other.

To redeem him. To liberate him.

To _save_ him.

And he wouldn't need saving in the first place if it wasn't for pretty boys with honeyed smiles and angel faces and eyes that twinkle when they hum _"follow me"_ and, dear God, if only Tyler hadn't listened. If only he had stayed right where he was, perched on that bar stool and watching the ice cubes bob like little sailboats in his glass of water- yes, water, because he didn't drink.

But he did grin right back at holy-faced boys when they pull up a chair and smile sort of wistful-like and say, "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say you're not an alcoholic."

And Tyler laughed, he laughed because the heaven-sent boy with the heaven-sent smile was just so goddamn contagious and he hadn't been happy in so long.

And maybe, if he hadn't followed the angel face and honeyed smile and twinkling eyes all the way to that cheap motel room, it would've been okay. Breezy laughs and light smiles wouldn't have turned to sweat rolling down clawed backs, only to mix with angry red beads of blood and soak into sticky sheets.

But this implies we live in a world where Tyler wasn't a sinner with crumbling self-control, which is why the smiles turned to screams and sweat mixed with blood, staining the sheets yet another unholy color.

Yes, the bed was a sinner's canvas, and the artists were feeling especially inspired that night. Except the muse that visited them was the Devil, and they used cum and blood and sweat for paint.

And when Tyler woke up and looked around the next morning, blurry-eyed and half asleep, he went cold.

Because the masterpiece he had created the night before - worshipping touches and wet smiles and bucking hips and glassy-eyed looks - suddenly made him want to throw up.

And the one who had helped in creating it? The oblivious boy curled at his side, soft and angelic and tangled in stained sheets? He made Tyler want to throw up, too. No matter _how_ pretty he looked, all soft thighs and messy curls and sleepy noises and warm breath- it didn't matter. Because he made Tyler sick. Because Tyler knew he _was_ sick. Sick on the inside.

Sick everywhere.

And yet he still couldn't help but leave one ghost of a kiss on the sleeping angel boy's cheek before he crept out the door and fled. Just one fond little kiss, one worshipping brush of a trembling mouth, because he was still oh-so convinced that this messy-haired beast with the twinkling eyes had been crafted by the hands of God.

And whether it was God or the Devil that called him back to that same bar the very next week, he couldn't be sure. Perhaps neither.

Because it was always about that one angel, wasn't it?

**Author's Note:**

> did you miss my rambling, ""poetic"" bullshit??
> 
> prolly not lmao
> 
> (it is. late,, and this is short and i am sorry)
> 
> (also the title is a line from the song "miami advice" by kimya dawson aKA M y E V ER THI NG)


End file.
